


In Company Of The Sun

by Sodafly



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arson, Blow Jobs, Dark, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pyromania, Stalking, pyrophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodafly/pseuds/Sodafly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do you see when you look at the world?" </p><p>"I see it burning" </p><p>Enjolras is pyromanic and Grantaire can't live without him</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Company Of The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Let it be known that the fanfictions I write are in no way a reflection of my morals 
> 
> Future chapters will be darker/more violent than the first (just so you're warned) and I never actually labeled Grantaire with a condition, he's just pretty messed up in the head (something that only worsens when Enjolras comes along) 
> 
> Another note is in this fic Enjolras is 17 and Grantaire is 18 and I'm unsure if that fully constitutes as underage but I put the tag in place just to be safe.

In all the years he has lived with them, they have moved a grand total of five times. Five times in ten years and frankly the novelty had long worn off. The new house, large and open plan looking out over the forest at the edge of town, is filled to the brim with unpacked boxes and the echo of movement in the too large rooms. It is ghost like with only the three of them rattling around like marbles in the back of a car.

 

“Enjolras, come on we’re going to be late.” Cosette is shouting from somewhere at the end of the corridor, voice ricocheting off the walls.

 

“Give me a moment.” Enjolras shouts back, lying on his bed with boots tied and coat on, packed school bag lying on the desk.

 

He’s been ready for almost half an hour now, listening to the last minute preparation of his sister in the room across the hall, the crunch of gravel as the tires of Valjean’s car pulls out of the front drive, the hiss and click as the lighter in his hand catches alight. He’s been flicking it on and off, on and off, for the duration of this half an hour, holding it out and watching the flame flicker against the backdrop of the ceiling, dancing the fingers of his free hand close enough to the orange warmth to almost scorch his fingers.

 

“Enjolras!”

 

“Alright.” Slinging off the bed and pocketing the lighter in the front zip up pocket of his backpack, Enjolras jogs down the stairs with car keys held between finger and thumb.

 

Cosette is waiting at the front door with bag hanging off one shoulder, fixing her hair in the mirror for one final time.  The pair look similar with their long blond hair and blue eyes, no one would know any better just looking at them.

 

“About time you showed, we seriously don’t want to be late on our first day.” She says, one hand on her hip.

 

“We’re not going to be late.” Enjolras replies, rolling his eyes before opening the front door and trudging down the driveway towards his car. It doesn’t matter if they’re late, they might not even see the entire school year through before they’re moving off somewhere else, packing their just unpacked belongings back in to the boxes.

 

The tree-lined road takes them from the tiny suburban neighbourhood into the town, the buildings steadily growing denser and taller the further in they go. It’s less busy than the cities they had grown used to living in for the past six years, with wide pavements and narrow roads, footpaths leading to the forest on the fringes of the urbanization. It’s scenic and cold for September and Enjolras is glad he had opted for the jacket after all.

 

“Are you nervous?” Cosette asks from the passenger seat as they follow the signpost directions towards the school.

 

“No, are you?”

  
“Not really.”

 

Enjolras is bored. Cosette is bored. This whole routine has become boring and tedious with all nervousness removed from the equation. They have each other and by the time six months pass and they’re moving on again, they’ll still have each other even when the fleeting friendships they made had faded away.

 

The car park is almost deserted of people when the pull up, with only a few lingering by their cars as the bell tolls in the background. It takes a while for Enjolras’ piece of shit car to lock that morning, with the door jamming and refusing to stay shut until his entire bodyweight was thrown against it. The few sniggering onlookers quickly shy away under Enjolras’ glare as he strides towards the building.

 

“You must be the new Mayor’s children.” The woman at the front desk coos upon their approach “Why aren’t you two just a splitting image of each other, you could almost be twins.”

 

Almost, when not considering the two-year age gap and their completely unrelated DNA. Cosette smiles sweetly, taking the timetable the woman hands her.

 

“We met your father yesterday, a very charming man. You two must take after your mother seeing as you look very little like him.”

 

“We wouldn’t know considering that not only do we have separate mothers but we’re also adopted.” Enjolras deadpans, looking over his timetable with a mixture of apathy and irritation. He’s not the kind of person to constantly bring up the adoption factor, but it comes out of his mouth before he can stop it, a slow drawl to make the situation instantly awkward. Judging by the floundering expression on the woman’s face and the withering look Cosette is giving him it certainly did the trick.

 

“Oh…well, if you have any questions or troubles then there will always be someone to talk to here at the reception, or the teachers are willing to oblige. I hope you have a nice time here.”

 

“Thanks” Enjolras says, breezing out of the room with Cosette following on his heels.

 

“That was unnecessary.” She scolds as soon as the door swings shut. Enjolras shrugs.

 

“Do you want me to walk to you to your first class?” He asks out of common courtesy.

 

“No thank you, I don’t need your assistance.” Cosette replies and as if to make a point, takes the next corridor with a wave of the hand as she walks away.

 

The first history class of the day is on the second floor and is already in full swing when he walks in. It passes simply, with Enjolras taking a seat nearest the back window and taking notes in a lined notepad. He barely notices the people in the class, barely takes note of the teacher or the subject, just lets the clock tick. He does however notice when someone grabs the sleeve of his jacket on the way out the door when the hour ends, almost spinning around and hitting whoever decided to touch him.

 

Another boy with short dark brown hair and an undercut is stood behind him, fingers curled around his wrist with this massive grin on his face. He’s handsome, with big brown eyes and a sharp jaw.

 

“Hi, sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” He apologizes, letting go of the shirtsleeve in his fingers and not shrinking under Enjolras’ gaze.

 

“It’s fine.” Enjolras says, turning back around to carry on his way only to find the other boy now falling into step at his side.

 

“I’m Courfeyrac by the way, think of me as your unofficial guide.” Courfeyrac holds out his hand to shake, a hand that Enjolras takes in a firm grip.

 

“Enjolras, and I think I’ll be fine without a guide.”

 

“Then consider me you friend, you could do with a friend.” There’s no need to mention that he’s survived years without ever having a proper friend.  Although he does briefly wonder if this boy is trying to hit on him, but pushes the absurd thought aside instantly.

 

“Let’s see what you’ve got next.” Courfeyrac peers over his shoulder, eyeing the map and timetable clutched in Enjolras’ hands. “Politics. That’s at the other end of the building on the first floor, I recommend taking the stairs near the Maths rooms at the end of the hall, they’re always pretty quiet.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem. I’ll see you around.”

 

Courfeyrac waves as he walks off into the courtyard, leaving Enjolras to navigate around the rooms.

 

*

 

At lunch Cosette is nowhere to be seen, leaving Enjolras to eat on his own. It’s nothing unusual, sitting at one of the back corners of the canteen surrounded by teenage cliques and their stupid clichés, the chatter droning away in the background. But this time it’s different, because the metal chair next to him is being pulled out with a screech and Courfeyrac is sitting down next to him with lunch in hand.

 

“Hey there.” Two other boys are with him, sitting down opposite. Enjolras raises an eyebrow.  “Enjolras this is Combeferre and Jehan. We figured you could use some company”

 

“A pleasure to meet you Enjolras, Courfeyrac spent almost the entirety of our English lesson talking about you” The boy with long strawberry blond hair called Jehan says, his fingers stained with purple ink and nails painted a pale yellow.

 

“I did not, I merely mentioned who you were.”

 

“So how has your day been so far?” The short hair boy with glasses asks, putting an end to the pointless conversation that only served to make Enjolras feel uncomfortable. He smiles.

 

“It’s been fine, starting a new school isn’t as hard as people make it out to be.”

 

“Of course not. I’ve changed three school in three years.”

 

“Try seven in ten years”

 

“Touché.” Combeferre laughs, stabbing a straw into a juice carton. They exchange a smile and Enjolras gets the feeling that maybe having some friends wouldn’t be that bad.

 

*

 

“Did you meet anyone nice today?” Valjean asks when they’re sat around the table that evening.  Enjolras scrapes his folk along the plate.

 

“There’s a nice girl in my maths class, and her friends are older but equally as nice.” Cosette says cheerily. Valjean looks sceptical.

 

“Older?”

 

“They’re the same age as Enjolras don’t worry.”

 

“Speaking of which, how about you Enjolras? How did your day go?”

 

Enjolras shrugs, shifting vegetables around his plate.

 

“It was fine, I made some friends.”

 

“You made friends, now that’s a surprise.”   Cosette teases nudging her foot against his under the table. Enjolras narrows his eyes in return.

 

“Well it’s good to know you’re settling well.” Valjean looks pleased, allowing Enjolras to excuse himself.

 

Pulling on his boots and silently slipping through the sliding backdoors, Enjolras strolls off into the far corner of the garden out of the sight of the windows. The last few rays of violet sunset are creating a fog over the woodland and grass, the crisp chill of the autumn evening setting in with the dusk.  Churning up a section of the grass to unearth the soil beneath with his heel, Enjolras searches the garden for rocks and stones and clears the small section of debris.

 

Arranging the hand full of twigs and sticks in the centre of the circle of stones enclosing the patch of soil, he flicks on the lighter, which catches after the third try and holds the naked flame to light. The small fire casts an amber glow on the stones and the skin of his fingers where they dance close enough to feel the heat from the flickering flame. It licks at his fingertips, the sharp burning sensation sending a tingle of pleasure running up his arm.

 

The sight has a satisfied sigh gushing out of Enjolras’ lungs, anxiety running out to be replaced with a relaxation in his bones. Smiling, he lies back on the grass facing the fire, and watches content until the last embers fade.

 

*

 

“Is that your sister?” Courfeyrac asks at the end of the week. He and Combeferre are sat with Enjolras on a bench one lunchtime, taking in the last of the mildly warm weather before it disappears completely.

 

Glancing up in the direction Courfeyrac is gesturing, Enjolras sees Cosette stood with a dark haired girl of similar height over by the steps towards the art building. A boy is also with her, gazing fixatedly at her face as she talks to someone sat on the metal railings.

 

“Yeah, why?” If Courfeyrac was going to ask his sister on a date, he’d have to put a stop to it. It had only been a week and Enjolras already knew of Courfeyrac’s reputation when it came to pursuits.

 

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Courfeyrac says holding up one hand. “It’s just, you should probably tell her to stay away from Grantaire.”

 

“Who’s Grantaire?"

 

“The guy sat on the railings, he’s in our history class”

 

The person sat on the railings is dressed in black, with thick mustard coloured boots and a green beanie attempting to no avail to tame the mess of black curls spilling out from underneath. Enjolras remembers seeing him a few times sat in the back corner of the history class, half sprawled on the desk with chin resting upon folded arms, looking as if there was a metaphorical thundercloud hovering above his head.

 

“Why should she stay away from him?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire doesn’t look like anything out of the ordinary and he has never been fond of telling Cosette what to do.

 

“It’s just, not a good idea to be friends with him. He used to date a guy called Montparnasse who is this shady guy who has this gang and Grantaire isn’t much better. Apparently he hospitalized someone, and after that no one saw him in school for months and when he came back he kept having to visiting the school counsellor. Anyway, during this time, Montparnasse was arrested and no one has seen him around since-”

 

“Courfeyrac stop, these stories are only rumours, we don’t actually know anything for sure.” 

 

“Combeferre please, the boy needs to know what everyone else thinks they know.”

 

Enjolras scowls, but allows Courfeyrac to continue, even if he doesn’t believe a word that's being said. He watches Grantaire from across campus, watches as he listens to Cosette talk, allows the dark haired girl to lean against him with an arm slung over her shoulder.  Eventually, a huge boy comes over, dragging Grantaire off the railing and slinging him across over one shoulder to carry him off across campus as the bell rings.

 

Over the next few weeks, Enjolras hears more and more rumours revolving around Grantaire. Rumours that he’s a drug dealer, that he’s spent time in juvenile prison, that he carries a knife to school. All the while, Enjolras notices him sat at the back of the history class, and starts noticing the way Grantaire stares at him for almost the entire hour of class. But despite everything, Enjolras finds nothing threatening about Grantaire; all he seems to do is hang around by himself on the steps of the art building with sketchpad and ipod.

 

“How do you know Grantaire?” Enjolras asks Cosette one evening when sat together on the sofa.

 

“Eponine’s friends know him so sometimes he hangs out with us.” She says, not looking up from her phone, which keeps beeping with the back and forth flow of text conversations.

 

“He’s in my history class.” He muses aloud, eyes fixed on the television screen but in his periphery he can see Cosette scowling at him.

 

“Have your friends been saying stuff about him?”

 

“Yes”

 

“Do you believe them?”

 

Enjolras remains silent. Cosette sighs.

 

“I don’t care what they say about him, he’s nice and I thought you were above listening to what other people say.”

 

He is, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t intrigued by it.

 

*

 

 There’s a forest serving as a backdrop to the house, a forest that stretches far into the distance making it easy to get lost in. Rows upon rows of dark green pine trees swallow up the dirt trails riddling the forest like a map of veins running through a body. September is drawing to a close and the thin layer of morning frost is melting away to make the soil moist underfoot.

 

Enjolras kicks the dead pine needles away from the path to where it’s heaped on the grounds after years of shedding, loose stones and dirt shifting beneath the thick sole of his boots. He’s bundled up in a thick red jacket zipped and buttoned to the collar, rolling his lighter in his pocketed hand, chewing on the thick string toggle of the jacket. It’s easy to get lost in the waves of trees that obscure the view of anything outside of the forest, as if nothing exists beyond it.

 

It’s only a matter of time until he’s completely lost.

 

Sideways stepping down a steep drop and sending rocks tumbling, Enjolras brushes the soil from his hand and flicks his lighter on and off.  Stress is tightening in his gut and there’s no choice left but to start dragging debris away from the path and wild bushes towards his secluded section at the bottom of the small hill. Brambles and thorns scratch thick lines into his palms as he piles up branches and leaves into a glorified mess. During the five minutes spent clearing pine needles and undergrowth away from the ground, his heart thuds against the walls of his ribcage; sweat dotting his skin as a rush of anxiety almost makes his knees buckle.

 

But then the lighter is in play and the undergrowth catches alight easily, a heady mixture of smoke and pine puffing plumes into the cool air. The fire is bigger than those he makes in the back garden, the flame reaching towards the sky as smoke escapes from the amber fingers.

 

Enjolras grins, feeling the anxiety flood from him as if it’s being ripped from his chest with such a brutal force it sends him sinking to his knees, hanging his head as the heat dries the sweat from his face. There’s a skitter of rocks and the snapping of twigs underfoot coming from at the top of the steep drop, but Enjolras doesn’t notice, too entranced by the sight before him.

 

When the flame eventually starts to die he’ll start to panic, overcome by distress that he’ll scream and tear at his hair, will return home with puffy eyes and a red flush, his fingertips constantly red from burning with soot beneath his nails. But the panic will fade; leaving him sated and at ease until the next build of anxiety starts again, the impulse growing under the skin like an itch.

 

Enjolras’ fascination with fire began at the age of four when the kitchen on the first couple to adopt him had caught fire. It was simple ignorance and little concentration on the adults half, which caused the pan left on the lit gas ring to burst into flames. Enjolras had watched, standing in the middle of the kitchen on his own with a soft toy clutched in one hand, as smoke started to fill the room in a thick grey fog which stuffed his lungs and made him cough. The fire alarm had started beeping, a distance sound lost in the haze of avid fascination that swamped the toddler. He hadn’t started crying until someone grabbed him from behind, dragging him kicking and screaming away from the fire until it was no longer in sight.

 

Since that moment, his dreams were filled with flame.

 

*

 

It takes another week for Enjolras to realise Grantaire is following him.

 

He’s walking Combeferre to his maths class when he by chance glances around to see Grantaire at the other end of the corridor, sharply looking away when Enjolras makes eye contact with him. At the time he doesn’t think anything of it, not until he _keeps_ seeing Grantaire in his periphery vision with eyes constantly fixed upon him in a manner that is utterly unsubtle.

 

On Thursday afternoon he goes to collect groceries from the corner shop on his way home from school, so he leaves his car in the school car park and walks the rest of the way into town.  He’s halfway between the car and the shop when he feels the sense of being watched drilling into the back of his next, the growing paranoia making his heart beat faster and footsteps quicken.

 

It only takes another couple of yards until he’s spinning around and coming face to face with a rather startled wide-eyed Grantaire, who squeaks when Enjolras grabs him and shoves him harshly into an ally way.

 

“Why are you following me?”  It comes out as a snarl, lips curling in a way that is threatening and has Grantaire shrinking back against the wall, holding both hands back.

 

“What I can’t walk down the street without being accused for stalking now?” He says despite the guilty flush on his cheeks.

 

“Don’t try to play me, I know you’ve been following me for the last week. I’ve seen you at school, always there staring at me and frankly I don’t find it amusing.”

 

Grantaire straightens, dropping the mask of ignorance in a matter of seconds, opting instead to stand toe to toe with the other boy, tilting his head with a smirk.

 

“I know your secret.”

 

Never before have four words had the power to make Enjolras’ stomach clench and induce a violent rush of anxiety straight through his veins like an electric shock.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Who’s the one playing now? I’ve seen you as well, in the woods with your lighter and your fires. I’ve see you the same time, same place four times this week. I’ve seen you fall to your knees with relief when the flame catches and I’ve heard you scream when it starts dying-”

 

“Stop”

 

Grantaire grins.

 

“And I have a feeling you don’t want anyone to know.”

 

Enjolras bites so hard on the inside of his cheek he can taste blood. His hand is still fisted in Grantaire’s coat and his grip only tightens.

 

“No one would believe you.”

 

“They would if I showed them”

 

They glare at each other, daring one another to be the first to look away. Eventually Enjolras releases his grip with a shove, taking deep satisfaction in the way Grantaire’ back hits the brick. Grantaire flinches, brushing off his coat as he rights himself.

 

“Leave me alone.” Enjolras says with an air of finality, making sure Grantaire goes walking off in the opposite direction before continuing on his way.

 

*

 

At age five Enjolras gets sent back to the orphanage after he starts behaving badly at school. He’s made fun off by the other children, resulting in other children crying when they push Enjolras or pull his hair. When a group of boys decide to cut his hair with craft scissors because the long blond curls make him look ‘too girly’, Enjolras lashes out, hair torn out in clumps as he hits the other boys with a surprising amount of strength, biting one of them so hard that blood starts dribbling down his skin.

 

He has to be torn away by two teachers, and even then he continues screaming and scratching. It upsets his adopted parents to no end.

 

The last straw is finding a box of matches when playing the kitchen where the ceiling is stained with a soot mark.  He’s seen them used, seen his adopted father drag the end across the side of the box when lighting cigarettes. It takes a several attempts until the head of the match sparks. It’s dazzling and brilliant and only grows more fantastic when he drops the light match back in the box and the entire thing promptly ignites. It’s wonderful and his hands are burnt but none of that matters because despite being only five years old, Enjolras has never felt this happy.

 

He gets sent back to the children’s home a week later.

 

*

 

Despite the threat, Grantaire doesn’t leave him alone, only grows bolder in his approach to Enjolras.

 

“You’d think that after being discovered, you’d move your little hobby elsewhere.”

 

Grantaire says, startling Enjolras as he gathers up debris. He jumps down the bank with much more ease than Enjolras, trudging over to him with twigs snapping under his boots. Grantaire is dressed in the same green waterproof coat with scuffs and sewn up holes as he always does, black jeans with a tear in the knee and boots. His hair is blowing in the breeze and Enjolras notices a stretcher in one ear.

 

“I thought I told you to leave me alone.” 

 

Grantaire shrugs

 

“I tried”

 

Enjolras scowls as Grantaire stroll over to a tree stump and takes a seat, content to watch Enjolras as he takes to dragging bonfire material to the burnt out section of the ground. It doesn’t feel right but he can’t stop himself, he _needs_ to light the fire but it feels as if Grantaire is intruding upon sacred ritual, an outsider who knows nothing about how much the act means to the initiator. But somehow Grantaire remains silent through it all, just sits there and watches as he always has from a distance, right up until the fire is lit and Enjolras is sitting in the dirt with a soft smile on his face.

 

“Will you let me sit here? Not do anything, just sit?” Grantaire asks quietly. Enjolras looks as him, sitting on the stump with knees pulled up to his chest, swamped by that scruffy looking jacket with an expression which is both hopefully and utterly terrified. He’s sat far enough away that the fire light only just hints at the colour of his skin.

 

Enjolras nods, looking back towards the fire, and for the first time in his life he doesn’t feel the urge to scream.

 

*

 

It becomes routine after that. Grantaire will follow him, but never approach, not until they’re in the woods where he’ll sit on that tree stump and not come any closer. They don’t talk, and eventually Grantaire just becomes part of the background, still like another pine tree.

 

At school, it’s like Grantaire doesn’t even exist. Apart from in history class when Enjolras can always feel those green eyes upon him and finds him looking towards Grantaire’s seat at the back of the room whenever he walks through the door. Sometimes he finds that he’s the one watching Grantaire from a distance, watching him occasionally talk to Cosette, but mostly sit around with this huge boy who Courfeyrac said was called Bahorel and is one of the best sports people in the school. But most of the time Grantaire is on his own, alone as the world continues moving around him.

 

Their first argument occurs in a free period after their history lesson is cancelled. He’s sat with Combeferre discussing an activist group that was recently set up by the university. Although he has an avid interest in the well being of others, due to the constant moving Enjolras had never really had a chance to join a proper group. He has written angry emails and signed petitions, shown support online as much as he could, but actually talking to others about it was something he had never had the chance to do until he met Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

 

“Apparently it’s only for members of the university but I’m sure they won’t mind if we show up.” Combeferre says pushing his glasses up his nose.

 

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them, besides any form of support should be accepted no matter who it is from”

 

“You know, I should have guessed you’d be into this kind of thing. You have that look about you.”

 

“ I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 

Their smiles are easy and Enjolras is about to turn his attention back to the essay he’s planning when a voice he recognizes to be Grantaire says

 

“I wouldn’t take it as a compliment.”

 

They both turn to look at Grantaire who is curled up in a chair a few tables away, feet crossed on the table doodling on a pad of paper with a chewed biro. He hasn’t even looked up from where his pen is travelling across the paper.

 

“Excuse me?” Enjolras bites.

 

“You heard me.” Grantaire may not be looking at him but he’s smirking nonetheless.

 

“Enjolras.” Combeferre says, tugging at Enjolras’ sleeve in an unsuccessful attempt to divert his attention.

 

“You suggest I shouldn’t take caring about the world and the well being as those in it as a compliment.”

 

“No I suggest that you shouldn’t take being a misguided idealist as a compliment. Surely you are not ignorant to the way people sigh with exasperation when they hear people like you talking about a better tomorrow, about the scorns of a society they’ve willingly blinded themselves to? It is because they do not delude themselves the way you do.” 

 

“You’re wrong, they have not willingly blinded themselves, all choice has been removed from them. People remain ignorant not because they choose to but because even now, information is held from them.”

 

Grantaire is finally looking up at him now, one eyebrow raised as he lays his pen vertically on the paper pad. Enjolras is half out of his seat and the majority of the room has been attracted by their argument, meaning there will probably be more rumours added to the mill by the end of the day.

 

“And you think that even if all information was made available to the people that they would rise up against their governments, that they would pay attention? You don’t get it; people don’t like to be reminded that the world sucks. People like to live in their own personal perfection, where everything is great and no one gets shit on, that’s just the way it works.”

 

Fury is burning through his skin, making his cheeks flush with anger and if Grantaire would just stop looking at him like that, like he’s a cat playing around with a captured mouse, then maybe Enjolras could concentrate better on his argument and less on the way he wants to hit the other right now. His fists curl and uncurl at his sides and he wonders how this had spiralled out of control so fast.

 

 

“You need to give people more credit, but then again, what would a loner like you know about people.” It’s aimed to hurt, to hit somewhere below the belt. He expects Grantaire to recoil but instead he just shrugs, setting his feet on the ground and rising.

 

“Being a loner gives me the perfect opportunity to observe without bias and let me tell you, Enjolras” The name comes out as a snarl, bitter around the lip curl “People aren’t all they’re made out to be.”

 

With that Grantaire picks up his bag and leaves, giving Enjolras a look that is almost a challenge as he breezes past. It takes fifteen minutes for Combeferre to calm him down, which mostly involves patiently listening to him rant and rave until calmly suggesting he ignore Grantaire.

 

“He’s playing the devil’s advocate, try not the let him rile you up so much.” Before managing to change the conversation topic completely and make the argument reduce to a fester in the back of Enjolras’ mind.

 

The bell rings at the end of the hour, and Enjolras strides towards the car park with keys clutched loosely between his fingers. Anger is still buzzing below the surface, emerging in the clench of his jaw and the twitch of his fingers, anger that only increases because yet again he can’t get his car door open and he ends up smacking the window out of pure frustration. His breath feels shallow and this really can’t be happening right now.

 

That’s when he looks up to see Grantaire leaning against the passenger door of a battered jeep on the other side of the car park, lighting up a cigarette held between pursed lips and the brief flicker of the flame licking his skin looks utterly beautiful. Or it would if Enjolras wasn’t furious and already halfway across the tarmac without comprehending the movement, shoving Grantaire against the jeep door with a thud.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Grantaire exclaims, almost dropping the cigarette from his mouth before taking hold of it between two fingers and sharply exhaling. Enjolras ignores the way it makes his stomach tighten.

 

“What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with _you_?”

 

He pushes at Grantaire again, who stands firm this time with one hand pressed against the door.  He’s glaring through the smoke and Enjolras absently notices the twin birthmarks sitting side by side beneath his right eye, and the wine coloured birthmark smudged at the corner of his mouth; but he’s mostly focused on the curl of his chapped lips.

 

“Just because I’m gave you a reality check suddenly means there’s something wrong with me? There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m not the one deluding myself with this better tomorrow bullshit.” Grantaire bites, inhaling deeply before leaning into Enjolras, speaking lowly into his ear “You might have Combeferre and Courfeyrac and whoever else listens to you completely wrapped around your fingers, but I know you, you can’t hide from me.”

 

Enjolras can feel the smoke against his ear and it makes him shiver despite the burning anger.

 

“You don’t know me.” Pinning Grantaire back against the jeep with an arm slammed across the front of his shoulders seems to be the only option. Grantaire laughs without humour, tilting his head back against the window to expose the thick column of his throat from beneath the coat. 

 

“I know you better than they ever will. I know you arrive at school five minutes before the first bell everyday with your sister. I know you do grocery shopping every Thursday afternoon at the same shop and then you drive to the mayor’s office to pick up your dad because that’s the only day he can come home early. I know your car has a sticky lock and it always takes you a minimum of three tries to get it open. I know that you go walking in the wood every night at six o clock and will stay out until eight, always taking the west hiking trailing before tailing off down one of the verges. I know that you’ll set fires at the bottom of that verge at least four times a week, will spend almost half an hour making sure everything is safe and secure before lighting the thing on fire, and we both know what happens afterwards.”

 

It’s only a glimpse into what Grantaire has witnessed in his weeks spent following Enjolras’ every footstep, but it’s enough to be a threat. Enjolras pushes his arm so hard against Grantaire that he flinches. The cigarette had long since dropped from Grantaire’s loosened fingers and extinguished itself next to the jeep’s tire.

 

“That doesn’t mean you know me, it just means that you’re enough of a creep to follow me around everywhere”

 

Grantaire is laughing at him again, ugly and resentful.

 

“You don’t get it do you. I know it’s wrong, and I hate myself because of it, but I can’t help it. Ever since you walked into class on the first day back I just knew I had to follow you wherever you went. I would follow you anywhere you wanted to lead me without question and I know what I’ve done is disgusting and horrible, but I don’t know what to do with myself. You’re driving me insane”

 

Enjolras stares at him, at a loss of what to say, hold slackening. Grantaire is wide eyed with fear and pleading, unspoken words lying on his tongue and if Enjolras were to ask then they would come tumbling out. But Enjolras doesn’t get the chance to ask because someone is grabbing his shoulder and pulling him out of Grantaire’s personal space with a harsh grip.

 

“Getting a little close for comfort don’t you think?” Bahorel stands a head taller than Enjolras and is twice the size muscle wise, his tanned fingers fisted in the back of Enjolras’ coat. “Sorry I’m late R, if this guy bothering you?”

 

Grantaire straightens his clothes, not looking either of them in the eye “No it’s fine Bahorel, lets go.”

 

He turns, jerking open the passenger door of the now unlocked jeep and climbing into the worn looking seat. Bahorel lets Enjolras go with a small push, rounding the front of the jeep to the driver’s side as Grantaire winds down the window. He lights up a second cigarettes, and manages to blow a plume in Enjolras’ face before the jeep pulls away with heavy metal pouring through the windows.

 

*

 

It’s two days until Grantaire appears again, gingerly appearing from between the trees to sit on his stump next to Enjolras’ already lit fire.  Enjolras looks up at the sound of footsteps in the undergrowth, gaze softening when he sees Grantaire wrapped up in a scarf and fingerless gloves. October is proving to be chilly, more so than it should be this time of year and his breath fogs in the air without the aid of a cigarette. He’s looking at Enjolras, seeking permission to remain in his company, a wordless question that Enjolras responds to by beckoning him over. Slowly and uncertainly, Grantaire rises before folding up on the ground at Enjolras’ side, the dead leaves crunching under his body weight.

 

“Are you like a sociopath or something. I mean following the obsessive need to stalk someone isn’t exactly normal.”

 

“Do I look like a walking psychiatric dictionary? I have no idea what I am and frankly I have no right to profile myself when I don’t know shit about psychology.” Grantaire says but he’s smiling. “Besides, what are you? Don’t you think this is all a little…pyromaniac?”

 

Enjolras looks to where Grantaire is gesturing towards the fire, sat hugging his knees to his chest, pulling off his scarf due to the increased heat. Enjolras smiles.

 

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

 

*

 

The orphanage dubs him as ‘troubled’ upon his return. He’s kept under observation for a while, the kitchen is out of bounds and the other children don’t want to play with him. He still has the burn scars on the inside of his fingers from that incident with the matchbox. He cries a lot, overcome with anxiety and sadness. But despite his constant weeping and bedwetting and reluctance to engage with other children, he’s intelligence strives beyond the IQ levels of his peers.

 

He’s adopted again at age seven by Jean Valjean, who takes him in despite his black marked record and doesn’t give up. There’s another child, Cosette who is five and left in Valjean’s care by her mother when she died. Valjean had always said Cosette deserved company, and an older brother to look out for her was the best option.

 

Fire starting doesn’t start up again until he’s nine, and since then it hasn’t stopped, only increased in frequency. He’s always been careful, kept the fires small, made sure it won’t grow out of control. He researches and prepares, gathers material whilst the anxiety grows until everything is set when it finally snaps.

 

He sees his first fire when he’s thirteen and walking Cosette home from school. The whirring of fire engines and the thick black smoke billowing up into the sky to form clouds attracts his attention and he’s pulling Cosette up the other street before he can think about it. It’s a like a reflex, the irresistible urge to see the orange and feel the heat.

 

Cosette protests but still clutches Enjolras’ hands as they near the scene, cornered off by fire engines and police keeping people back. A fair few have gathered to watch, some to comfort the distraught family the house belongs to, but mostly to marvel at the spectacle before them. The flames are roaring, travelling impossibly high into the sky as wood cracks and splinters inside. Ash is being flushed into the air with every pop of objects inside the house combusting in the heat. It’s beautiful and Enjolras’ hand goes slack, all the background noise disappearing as his attention is consumed, focusing in on the fire and only on the fire.

 

Cosette is also fascinated, even if she is still tugging at her unresponsive brother with earnest, wanting to go home. Eventually she tires, opting instead to walk home by herself and leaving Enjolras to watch until the flame dies down to the blacken embers and ash and the fire trucks drive away, leaving the area sectioned off. Needless to say, Valjean is furious that Cosette had been left to walk home on her own and he walks back up towards the scene to find Enjolras sat cross-legged on the pavement, rocking back and forth.

 

Valjean doesn’t yell or scold him, just gently pulls him away from the burnt out house and towards the car. They don’t speak of it; in fact, they’ve never spoken of it.

 

*

 

“Everyone at school is talking about how you pinned Grantaire against Bahorel’s jeep.” Cosette says upon striding into Enjolras’ bedroom and seating herself in the spinning desk chair, smacking bubblegum. 

 

“Thanks for knocking, remember what Dad said knocking before entering?” Enjolras says from where he’s lying on his bed with a book in one hand.

 

Cosette huffs amused.

 

“Sure, like you would be doing that in the middle of the day.”

 

“It’s the weekend, I could be naked in the middle of the day”

 

“Okay stop with the kidding, you only time you’re naked is when you’re in the shower.” Cosette throws a pencil at him “Focus on the topic.”

 

Enjolras folds the page down and slams the cover shut, ignoring the weirdness of the conversation.

 

“What? People are saying stuff? Who cares; people say all kinds of stuff all the time.”

 

“I know, I just found it strange and in order to establish whether or not something is going on between you I thought I’d ask the source material. Excuse me for not automatically believing what everyone is telling me.” Bless Cosette, as blunt as she can be she is the best adopted sister he could ask for.

 

“We were having an argument and you know I can get a bit hot headed when it starts spiralling out of control. I didn’t mean to push him against the jeep, it just sort of happened. Nothing is going on between us.”

 

For once Cosette doesn’t push it and seems to take his words at face value, spinning once in the chair before getting up and patting him on the head.

 

“Try not to get so violent next time. Also dinner is at seven, we’re having takeaway.”  

 

Enjolras taps the cover of the book when the bedroom door clicks shut, suddenly unable to find the will power to open to the folded page. There are rumours now that there is something going on between him and Grantaire, rumours his friends will no doubt have heard and will question him on later. But they didn’t know about the obscure relationship that couldn’t be classes as friendship, but couldn’t really be classed as anything less than that. Enjolras shared his most intimate moments with Grantaire, shared his firelight and warmth and beckoned him closer to his side as all the anxiety flows from him.

 

Grantaire who has already shown an unwavering devotion to him, who fears he’ll be cast aside and rejected by the object of his obsession. Grantaire, who he knows to be intelligent, suggested by the occasional passing comment he makes during class and their time spent together. And as much as Enjolras has trouble admitting it, there’s something comforting about his presence.

 

After dinner he takes the trail to his usual destination, wrapped up in only his coat because it surprisingly warm for a mid October night. Grantaire is already there, playing with a branch by hitting it against dead leaves and unearthing stones from the soil. He’s wearing a grey bobble hat and a wooden spiral through his stretched earlobe.

 

“Hey” He calls out a little breathlessly, cheeks flushed from exertion. His expression is bright if not a little manic, wide eyed and grinning.

 

“Hi” Enjolras replies much calmer, gathering his hair into a ponytail to stop it whipping around his face.  Grantaire tosses the stick aside and scampers up the bank to Enjolras’ side.

 

“So if you don’t mind, I would really like to show you something.” Grantaire waves his hands around “Think of it as an offering of forgiveness.” 

 

Enjolras tilts his head, tempted to say that there’s no need for a peace offering, but the bright stars in Grantaire’s irises is too hard to resist. Instead he beckons for Grantaire to take the lead, inclining his head just so.

 

Grantaire goes bounding off through the trees, ignoring the path completely to trample over bushes and brambles, pocketing his hands in the depths of his coat.

 

“Do you know where you’re going?” Enjolras asks, glancing around the endless lines of trees with no idea where they are.  Grantaire laughs, glancing over his shoulder as he climbs up another steep bank onto a separate hiking trial, grasping hold of jutting tree roots rising like ribs from the body of the earth.

 

“I grew up here, so after eighteen years of wandering around these woods I’d like to think I would know my way by now.”

 

A hand is offered to pull Enjolras up onto the ridge, a hand that is rough and warm to the touch.

 

They’ve taken the northern hiking trail up a steep hill with loose rocks on the path, which make Enjolras slip multiple times, catching himself on the banks and a few times on the back of Grantaire’ coat, almost pulling them both back down the hill. It’s darker with the denser tree growth and the earlier setting of the sun, making the dark colour palette fade to a grey as the light diminishes. Grantaire hums as he navigates with ease, veering off the path once more and Enjolras can hear the trickle of water in a stream somewhere nearby, but he never actually sees the steady roll of liquid over pebbles.

 

Eventually the trees open out into a clearing at the stop of the hill, a field of rich grass lined by a circle of pine tree from which they emerge. The field is barren apart from the tiny wooden outhouse protruding in the centre.

 

“There used to be a house here.” Grantaire explains approaching the outhouse with no particular hurry. “But it was knocked down when this area was supposed to be developed into a new neighbourhood. Obviously, that development never went through and all that is left is this log hut.”

 

Grantaire is pulling on a pair of gloves before shouldering open the sticky door of the hut. Cobwebs hang from the beams and it’s almost empty apart from logs and weeds that have started to uproot the floorboards and wiggle in through cracks in the graffiti covered walls. There’s a single window that has been smashed, discarded alcohol bottles from teenagers finding a safe place to drink.

 

“I still fail to see why you bought me here.” Enjolras say glances around before trailing off, staring at Grantaire with a slack jaw and a rush to his stomach. Grantaire is standing there grinning, cradling a plastic canister of gasoline that he had obviously planted moments before.

 

“I checked.” He reassures “The trees are far enough so they won’t catch fire and there’s phone signal so if needs be we can call the fire department and then bolt if it gets out of hand.” 

 

The pleading expression on Grantaire’s face is so painfully open, so desperate for approval that all Enjolras can do is stare. Stare at the bright red canister in his hands, at the amount of thought that has been put into presenting this as a gift and the whirlwind of emotion is creates within him. The aching urge to leap into Grantaire’s arm and watch the world burn.

 

Suddenly he’s snatching the canister away, unstopping the plug with in snap and sloshing the liquid all over the broken furniture and dead plants. Grantaire grins, salvaging old leaflets from the floor before they can be drenched, rolling them up and plating them together. The smell of gasoline is heady, making Enjolras’ sinuses sting and lungs burn, the sensation going through to his gut as the rush consumes him as it soaks into the floorboards. He’s breathing harshly.

 

“I take it you have something to light it with.” Enjolras states a little hoarsely, jittering out of his skin with excitement.

 

“Of course.” The lopsided smile that spreads across his face is perfect as Grantaire takes the platted paper whilst pushing Enjolras out the hut.  Using a battered lighter to ignite the paper, he tosses it through the empty doorway and they run back to a safe distance as flames engulf the hut.

 

Enjolras falls to sit in the grass, bouncing up and down like an excited child as smoke starts trailing out the cracks and windows. There’s a crackling of wood, the glow of orange deep inside similar to the way Enjolras feels he would look if the fire burning within himself could be seen by others.  The sun had long since set, making the fire a beacon in the middle of the darkness, a source of heat in the growing chill that fogs their breath and the rush is exhilarating.

 

“This is amazing” Enjolras breathes. He hasn’t seen a fire this big since following the firemen when he was thirteen, mind flashing back briefly to sitting on the pavement alone, rocking back and forth and watching the blackened embers emit smoke into the sky. But this time no one is gently picking up his frail body and placing him in a car, this time he is not alone.

 

“Have I pleased you?” Grantaire mutters, as if afraid to ask, afraid of the rejection.

 

Enjolras turns to him. Grantaire is looking at the fire, his face bathed in amber, highlighting rivers in the inky black curls of his hair. His breath is a subtle puff of grey against the sky, arms wrapped around his knees to make the fabric of his coat bunch around his shoulders. The birthmark staining the corner of his mouth is alighted by the fire and contrasts the paleness of his skin, drawing attention towards the fullness of his bottom lip and suddenly all Enjolras’ wants is to push Grantaire down and rut against him as the fire burns in front of them.

 

“Yes.” Enjolras replies breathily, reaching out to slide his fingers against the back of Grantaire’s neck.

 

Grantaire looks at him, unsure at the touch of Enjolras’ cool fingers, which moves to fist in the collar of his coat, pulling him forward until their lips meet. Grantaire’s lips are chapped and he tenses under Enjolras’ hands at first, eyes wide with surprise.

 

“What was that?” Grantaire asks, voice elevated in pitch when he pulls away, still within inches of Enjolras. The firelight is reflected in his pupils.

 

“I wanted to kiss you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Think of it as a thank you gift.”

 

Grantaire outright laughs in his face, or at least he would have, if Enjolras hadn’t wrenched him forward again, their teeth knocking together painfully. Grantaire huffs amusedly against his closed lips, tilting his head for a better angle. For all Enjolras lacked in experience he made up with enthusiasm, fingers curling tightly in Grantaire’s hair and pressing closer. Grantaire’s tongue flicks over his bottom lip, licking at the seam of his lips until they part and allow him access, the strange but not unpleasant feeling of Grantaire’s tongue against his own going straight to Enjolras’ cock. He’s light headed with adrenaline ad from arousal, the feeling of hands grabbing the front of his coat to practically pull him half into Grantaire’s lap.

 

The position is a little awkward as Enjolras pulls away to adjust, moving to straddle Grantaire’s lap, knees digging into the dirt as his jeans stretch tightly over his groin, arms slung over Grantaire’s shoulder’s with the other boy’s hands supporting his back. He can see the fire burning in the background, a huge inferno acting as the backdrop to their scene.

 

“You are beautiful,” Grantaire says, looking up with an awe filled expression, as if he can’t fully believe what is being allowed to happen. He tilts Enjolras’ chin upwards, leaning into to kiss the expanse of skin not hidden by the coat. His teeth nip at Enjolras’ throat, earning a gasp and fingers pulling at his hair.  Grantaire rears his head, cupping Enjolras’ cheek with one hand in an oddly affectionate gesture, gentle as if he’s afraid to break a precious artefact.

 

“I would do anything for you.”

 

And Enjolras suddenly can’t bare the lack of access to Grantaire’s skin. He moans in both frustration and the rush the statement sends pouring through his nerve, fingers fumbling with the zipper of Grantaire’s battered old jacket, wrestling it from his shoulders as Grantaire tries to help shed the item until it’s a crumbled mess somewhere in the grass. Pushing his hands against shoulders, Grantaire ends up lying on his back in the grass, shivering in his t-shirt as his bobble hat slips from his head with the light weight of Enjolras pressed against him.

 

“I can’t believe you did this. All of this.” Enjolras ducks his head, following the urge to suck on the dip of collarbones visible from beneath the low neck of Grantaire’s t-shirt. A hint of salt settles on his tongue as he licks the large mark now marring the white, as intoxicating as the way Grantaire moans and slides his hands to Enjolras’ ass.

 

It’s then when Enjolras becomes aware of the erection pushing painfully against the zipper of his jeans. Grantaire’s hands grope and pull Enjolras closer, rocking their hips together and sending a violent shiver running through Enjolras who ducks his head against his neck. The friction is incredible and Enjolras is pretty sure that he’s going to come in his pants way too soon if this continues. Grantaire kisses him, swallowing the gasps and whimpers he didn’t realise he was making, sucking on his bottom lip until they’re red and swollen.

 

“Have you done anything like this before?” Grantaire asks, voice completely wrecked as he takes Enjolras’ face gently in hand, shifting strands of hair behind his ear.

Enjolras swallows thickly, finding it difficult to stop rutting against Grantaire’s leg.

 

“No” He replies placing all his trust in the boy beneath him. Grantaire smiles, hooking his hand in the crook of Enjolras’ knees and flipping them over so Enjolras’ legs curve over Grantaire’s hips and the coolness of the grass seeps into his back.

 

“If you want me to” Grantaire says into his ear, kissing behind his earlobe “I will make you feel so good. If you want to that is?”

 

“I want you to. I want you to.” Enjolras says without hesitation, not standing another moment without Grantaire’s mouth on his, tasting the cigarettes on his tongue and the coffee behind his teeth. The heavy smells of gasoline and arousal stick to their clothing, matting in the threads and seeping out into the earth.

 

Grantaire shifts away, palming at Enjolras’ jeans with the heal of his hand whilst biting at the soft tissue beneath Enjolras’ jaw. The warmth of his heavier body weight smoothers Enjolras, larger body frame shielding him against the nightly chill as the fog of their breath mingles together.

 

But then Grantaire is gone, knees slipping further back as he hovers on all fours, spreading Enjolras legs wide open and slotting in the space between them. The relief that floods through him when the button pops open and the zipper is dragged down flood through him, the coldness of the air making Enjolras shiver despite his coat. Grantaire keeps glancing up at him for reassurance, constantly seeking permission as he hooks his fingers in the elastic of Enjolras’ underwear, peeling them down to mid thigh and allowing his flushed cock to curve up towards his abdomen, exposed to the sharpness of the cold.

 

Enjolras cries out, fists pulling at the grass as the wet heat of Grantaire’s mouth slides over the head of his cock almost making him come right then. The darkness hides most of the view of Grantaire between his legs, head bowed, one hand supported on his parted thigh as the other holds down his hips. But Enjolras has watched enough porn to be able to imagine what it would look like, Grantaire’s lips stretched tightly around his cock, throat working to swallow him down slowly inch by inch. His tongue rubs over the underside, working up and down as his head bobs.

 

“Oh fuck.” Enjolras groans gripping tightly to curled hair strands as Grantaire swallows around him. The arm thrown across his hips is the only thing stopping him from bucking into the wet heat, which draws almost entirely off his cock to lick at the head, rubbing between the slit to taste the precome. He suckles on the head before taking Enjolras in mouth completely until his nose is buried in the hair at the base.

 

Enjolras is well aware he’s making an obscene amount of noise, writhing in the grass as the arousal coils tightly in his stomach. In the back of his mind, he knows that Grantaire has done this before, has had another the same way he’s having Enjolras in the middle of a field with the fire crackling in the background. But he ignores the jealously for how good the mouth around him feels. His teeth worry at his bottom lip, trying to stifle the noise to no avail when Grantaire hums around him, swallowing and sucking and the noise he’s making is positively pornographic.

 

“Ah please Grantaire, I’m going to…I’m going to come.” It’s coming to an end impossibly fast but he can’t stop it. Grantaire looks up at him, wide eyed and explicit, cheeks hollowing and pulling off to the tip.

 

The orgasm hits him like a punch to the stomach, arching off the ground as he spills into Grantaire’s mouth. He can feel him swallowing thickly, gulping it all down. When the rush subsides, Enjolras lies boneless in the grass, watching as Grantaire sits back on his knees wiping his mouth and panting.

 

“That was amazing.” Enjolras pants, chest finally starting to stop heaving, gazing dazedly up at the stars. Grantaire grins dopily, shoves open his jeans and stuffing his hand down his boxers to take his cock in hand.

 

Enjolras sits up, pulling Grantaire forward to kiss him sloppily, tasting himself on Grantaire’s tongue and feeling the other writhe against him. Resting his head on Grantaire’s shoulder Enjolras watches the fast movement on his hand.

 

“Come on” He mutters biting Grantaire’s neck “Come for me.”

 

Grantaire cries out, clinging to Enjolras as a damp patch spreads across the front of his underwear, hand covered in the sticky fluid. Slumping against Enjolras, Grantaire wipes his hand on the grass and the thigh of his jeans, breathing heavily against his shoulder.

 

“Thank you” Grantaire says, breathing levelling out into a steady stream.

 

“You’re the one who just sucked me off. I think you’re the one deserving the thanks.”

 

“It was good then?”

 

“More than good”

 

Grantaire’s laugh is weak and he’s starting to shiver, zipping up before rising to his feet. He holds a hand out to Enjolras.

 

“We should probably call the emergency services.”

 

The hut has been fully engulfed, raging and whooshing into the sky as the wood splinters and collapses.  The column of smoke is huge and will no doubt attract someone from the surrounding area if it isn’t dealt with soon enough.

 

‘Yeah we probably should.”

 

Grantaire calls the services whilst they retreat back into the trees, hanging up without giving a name, one hand hooked in the back of Enjolras’ jeans. Reluctantly Enjolras leaves the fire to burn, disappearing through the woods with Grantaire following loyally behind.  

**Author's Note:**

> If I have  misrepresented the mental issues presented in this fic then if you could point out my errors and I'll correct them 
> 
> Research Material: 
> 
>   * <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pyromania>
>   * <http://www.minddisorders.com/Py-Z/Pyromania.html>
>   * <http://www.drtomoconnor.com/4050/4050lect04a.htm>
>   * <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Child_pyromaniac>
>   * <http://www.jaapl.org/content/40/3/355.full.pdf>
> 

> 
> [my tumblr ](http://sodafly.tumblr.com/)


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